


to ponder a man

by mymonsterboy



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: (i hate myself), Camboy!Peter, F/M, M/M, More tags to be added, Sugar Daddy AU, bc i hate when ppl give their stories away in the tags ha, bc it's me lol, but turns 18 before shit goes down, camboy au, peter's 17 at the beginning, peter's bi, sex !, so is Tony, so technically underage ?, twenty bi teen am i rite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 12:52:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19020310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mymonsterboy/pseuds/mymonsterboy
Summary: *note, although i already noted it in the tags* there is no underage sex/relationship in this fic ! peter turns 18 before he n tony ever meet in person :)hello friends ! (this fic is starker so if u don't like it don't read it :) i'm reposting this onto a different account bc i wanna keep my pairings separate (esp controversial ones lol) . u can find stucky , nat/wanda , n other stuff at my og ao3 @hereyeswerestars !here's peter parker as a 17 year old high school graduate who decides (as one does) that in order to pay for college, he should become a camboy. so he does—on top of spider-manning around brooklyn (yes that's a word) having somewhat of a social life, and keeping up with frog memes. tony stark's divorce is finally official, and the tower is empty again. two hearts from very different upbringings who are just looking for someone to love. i bring you ... to ponder a man :) enjoy, and please leave a comment if u love it !





	to ponder a man

__So tell me how to be in this world  
Tell me how to breathe in and feel no hurt  
Tell me how 'cause I believe in something  
I believe in us

 

 

_ july 2019 _

 

Tony “I am Iron Man” Stark stared at his computer screen, entranced by the sinful images flashing across it. The person on screen was quite the specimen—barely legal, according to the profile, with a mess of unruly brown curls, hazel eyes, and an exquisite cock, if Tony were the judge. 

 

The boy ( _ young man _ , Tony corrected himself, he had to be eighteen to use the site) was on his hands and knees before the camera, groaning as he inserted a third finger into his tight, perfect asshole. 

 

Tony shoved a hand down his pants, laying back on silk sheets as he drank in the scene. He’d stumbled across the porn site earlier today while he was waiting for his takeout, and by God was the small fee to become a premium member worth it. He’d been drawn to the camboy side, scrolling through profiles until he’d landed on  _ Dawn’s.  _ He was an adorable twink with a Brooklyn accent, and Tony had spent the rest of the afternoon watching the kid’s videos. (He ignored the spark of shame that shot down his spine at the word  _ kid.  _ Dawn had to be at least eighteen, so it was fine. Right?) 

 

But then the brunet on screen was moaning brokenly as he fucked himself back onto his narrow fingers, and Tony couldn’t spend one more second debating the morality of the situation. He came alongside the camboy, gritting his teeth to muffle his groans—even though the Tower was empty. And would be all night. 

 

Tony exhaled heavily, setting down his tablet and throwing his head back on the pillows. It was nice to watch a pretty twink and get himself off, but it was time to get back to the real world. By which he meant staring at the plummeting Stark Industries’ stocks and drinking himself to death. 

 

But first he’d lay in bed for a moment. He closed his eyes, imagining full pink lips on his, and grabbed his tablet without thinking. His dick couldn’t take another round so soon, but Dawn had a few Q&A videos that looked intriguing. Learning more about the kid might help assuage the guilt that settled heavily in his bones. 

 

* * *

 

 

_ june 2019 _

  
  


“Peter Benjamin Parker.” 

 

The crowd erupted into applause and Peter walked across the stage, hyper-focused on not tripping on his navy blue gown. Mr. Harrington grinned at Peter and pulled him into a tight hug. Peter hugged back, eyes finding MJ and Ned in the sea of students in caps and gowns. They beamed at him, Ned giving Pete a thumbs-up, and then Mr. Harrington was releasing him, clapping him on the back and handing him his diploma, and Peter walked off the stage in a daze. Harrington called the next student and Peter sat down next to MJ, looking slightly shell-shocked. 

 

“You good, dude?” MJ asked, nudging him with her shoulder. “We still have a party to go to after this.”

 

Ned gave him a fist-bump and Peter nodded quickly. “I’m fine. Just—” overwhelmed? Shocked? Ready to puke? “I’m,” Peter started again, but then Flash Thompson walked across the stage and all the students were screaming again. 

 

* * *

 

Peter sat on the second step of the staircase of Flash’s house, untouched solo cup at his side. He was happy. He was fine. 

 

But he didn't want to be  _ here.  _ He shifted on the steps, swore he could feel his suit in his backpack—and yeah, he’d definitely rather be swinging from rooftops just being your average friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, or staring at college applications until his eyes bleed. _Anywhere_ but here. 

 

He’d told Liz he’d liked her on these steps. Told her about being bisexual. She’d been fine with it, hadn’t seemed to hear his thundering heart or notice his sweaty palms. 

 

And then Flash had run down the stairs, and the next day  _ everyone  _ knew. Liz was mortified, but she had nothing on the shame Peter felt. 

 

Only MJ and Ned had known before (Aunt May, too) and he hadn’t planned on coming out to anyone else. 

 

So, yeah. He sat at the biggest party of the year, on the night of his graduation, and remembered all the shitty things that had happened over the past four years. All the kids here had big plans for the summer (Europe, internships with huge firms, mission trips) and he has nothing. Everyone also had plans for college. he wants—no,  _ needs  _ to go to MIT but there’s no way he can afford it.

 

It’s not like being Spider-Man is a 40k salary. It’s  _ nothing,  _ actually—except for the relief he feels swinging from rooftops, the peace that settles over him (if only momentarily) after he’s stopped a kidnapping, or rescued a stray, or rushed into a burning building for an old lady’s photo album. 

 

“Cheer up, Parker,” a voice said, and for a second he thought it was Liz and he scrambled to his feet, nearly knocking over his cup. But it was just MJ. (Like there was anything “just” about her.) 

 

“Come dance with me.” she held out her hand, eyes sparkling. 

 

Peter bit his lip, and she grabbed his hand. “You’re thinking too hard,” she said with a smile, and then he was out on the dance floor, surrounded by sweaty teenage bodies, and he just… let himself go. 

 

Movement was always the best outlet for Peter. Yeah, he’d gotten drunk and _tried_ to smoke (and coughed up his lungs for a week, May had thought he’d contracted bronchitis) but they didn’t  _ help  _ the way breaking into a sweat and elevating his heart rate did. 

 

And when he couldn’t run across rooftops and through sewer systems, punch a robber in the face, he danced. 

 

He didn’t think he was good at it. He wasn’t always on the beat, his legs didn’t exactly go where he wanted them to, but it was fun. And as long as he pretended no one was watching, he could be happy. 

 

He felt eyes on him, different from whoever was on the dance floor, and his spidey-senses spiked. Then there was a pair of hands on his waist. He spun around, hands meeting a solid chest. 

 

He looked up, and gray eyes studied him. “Wanna dance?” the boy asked, licking his lips. 

 

Peter nodded, studying the boy back. He’d never seen him before; he was probably a friend of someone from his class. Either way, he was very pretty, and Peter had never danced with a boy before. 

 

The blond guided them, hands gripping his waist and pulling them to the center of the dance floor. 

 

He tugged Peter flush to him, and Peter rolled his hips, not knowing where this new courage came from. But he wasn’t going to stop and ask. 

 

He wrapped his arms around the boy’s neck, and the gray-eyed stranger grinned wolfishly and drove his hips up, meeting Peter’s core. He gasped, head falling back at the glorious sensation of a hard cock against his. 

 

“Let’s get away from all this,” the boy murmured, lips brushing Peter’s ear, and he nodded quickly, gasping for air. 

 

The boy pulled Peter into an empty bedroom, kicking the door shut and slamming Peter against it. He moaned loudly, hands flying to the boy’s chest, tugging at his t-shirt. The boy laughed, white teeth flashing. “Patience, darling,” he said, and started mouthing at Peter’s neck. 

 

Peter keened, and when the boy moved closer to grab Peter's legs and hoist him up against the wall, he outright wailed with delight, jerking his hips up to meet a deliciously hard cock. 

 

He knew his friends would be disappointed in him,  _ everyone  _ would be—Aunt May, his professors, Christ, even his pet fish Atom would give him the fish eye for weeks—but Peter was tired. He was sad, and when a pretty boy looked at him for longer than a second he couldn’t help himself. A guy had needs, and sometimes the stress of life was too much.

 

But when the blond stopped kissing Peter’s neck and murmured, “How much, baby?” Peter froze. 

 

“What?” he gasped, voice wrecked. (God, he loved girls but the effect guys had on him was downright embarrassing. He’d fall to his knees for one kiss.)

 

“To get your pretty lips on my cock.” the boy said, nipping at Peter’s Adam’s apple.

 

Peter’s eyes widened.  “I-I don’t,” he stammered, not knowing what to say. Yeah, he was horny as fuck, but this was also his first time doing  _ anything  _ with a guy.

 

“Come on, baby. Is a hundred okay?” 

 

Peter nodded rapidly, tapping at the boy’s shoulder to let him down so he could suck the life out of his cock. Okay, so he’d never done this before. But people always told him he was a fast learner. Peter knelt on the red carpet, looking up at the beautiful boy and considering telling him that he didn’t have to pay. But if he was willing, why not? It wasn’t like Peter was drowning in money. 

 

The blond unzipped his pants and Peter placed his hands on the blond’s thighs. He’d seen that much in porn. 

 

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly, wondering why he hadn’t asked before.

 

Gray-Eyes laughed darkly. “Does it matter?” 

 

He’d taken his dick out and was stroking it languidly, and Peter realized that no, nothing mattered now that he was staring down a pretty big cock. He licked his lips, and was about to suck it down when the door slammed open, whacking Peter in the back. he fell on his face, groaning. 

 

“What the fuck,” the blond snarled, tucking himself back into his pants. MJ stood in the doorway, eyes narrowed. 

 

“We’re leaving, Peter.” she said, in that tone that meant  _ don’t mess with me, Parker. _

 

“But—” Peter protested, because MJ could talk sternly all she wanted, Peter had been  _ this  _ close to getting dick for the first time in his life. Sure, it had been with a complete stranger, but—

 

“Come on.” 

 

Peter stood up, crossing his arms. 

 

The blond squeezed his ass and slid by the both of them, winking at Peter over his shoulder. And then he was gone. 

 

Peter stared after him, mouth slightly open. 

 

“What the fuck,” MJ demanded. 

 

Peter shrugged, cheeks flushing. This wasn’t how he wanted the night to end. MJ was terrifying when she wanted answers. 

 

“Who is that guy? And why were you alone with him? Seriously, Peter, have you been drinking? Or are you high—” 

 

“I just wanted to have fun for one second,” Peter interrupted, glaring at her. God, he hated snapping at his friends. But was it so hard to contemplate Peter letting go, just once? Just being an ordinary teenager for once? 

 

“Just—stop putting me on this perfect pedestal,” he said, anger vanishing from his voice as quickly as it came. “Please.” 

 

He walked past her, and she walked after him. He could feel her concern in her eyes, and he didn’t know if it was the spider-senses or if he just had freakishly good people skills (ha) but he knew what she was going to say. So he stopped, turning to face her. 

 

“I’m sorry,” MJ said, and Peter nodded, chewing on his lip. He was sorry too—but not for following the blond. 

 

“I’m just worried about you. Just.. be safe, okay? And know that you can always talk to me,” she said softly. 

 

He smiled. “I know.” he pulled her into a tight hug, knowing how hard it was for her to open up like that. 

 

The night passed quickly after that. They pulled a reluctant Ned from his umpteenth game of Catan from a cute junior girl with her dark hair in space buns and walked out, Peter ignoring Flash’s catcalls. 

 

They all piled into MJ’s minivan, Peter and Ned in the back, MJ driving and her violin in the passenger seat. 

 

“She is my wife. You don’t fucking touch her,” she said, and Peter stared at her for a second before she burst out laughing. “Jeez, like I would ever support a corrupt, inherently sexist institution like marriage. But still, you aren’t touching my violin.”

 

Ned passed out immediately, snoring with his head on Peter’s shoulder, and MJ hummed along to some obscure indie radio on Spotify.

 

Peter carefully pulled his phone from his back pocket, and frowned when a small piece of paper fell onto his lap. 

 

He picked it up and gasped. It was a folded hundred dollar bill. 

 

He thought back to the events of the day. May had  _ never  _ given him a one hundred dollar bill—he hadn’t even seen one until recently, when Ned got his first paycheck. 

 

_ Oh.  _ The blond boy from the party had grabbed his ass before he left, had he done it then?

 

Peter stuffed the bill into his tighter front pocket before Ned woke up or MJ noticed, eyes wide at the possibilities. If he got a hundred bucks every time he gave a blowjob (or attempted to), he only had to give five hundred more blowjobs before he saved enough money to afford a semester at MIT. 

 

If he became a prostitute, that was doable, right? Peter had to research. He’d just googled  _ how much do prostitutes make a day  _ when MJ turned down the music and cleared her throat. 

 

“So, you get the letter from MIT yet?” MJ asked.

 

Peter blinked and looked out the window. “Um,” he began eloquently. 

 

“Peter, I swear to God if you didn’t finish your application I will murder you.” 

 

“I did finish it! I just didn’t… submit it,” he finished quietly. MJ clicked on her blinker and turned down the street to Peter’s apartment, where they were all spending the night. 

 

“Why not?” she demanded. 

 

“Because there’s no  _ point _ , MJ,” Peter said, frustration raising his voice. “You know I can’t afford it. Next year I might as well just work three jobs and save up.” 

 

“You could become a stripper,” Ned piped up, lifting his head from Peter’s shoulder. Peter laughed weakly, wondering if Ned had read his mind (or google search.)

 

MJ rolled her eyes and pulled into the apartment complex’s parking garage. “Peter is  _ not  _ becoming a stripper before me.”

 

Peter snorted, but his mind was racing. Sure, he was only seventeen, but maybe there were clubs that didn’t care?

 

MJ parked (rather terribly, but she  _ was  _ bisexual) and the trio hopped out, Ned gushing about the girl he’d been playing board games with. They walked to the elevators and Peter pushed the button with his shoe.  

 

“You aren’t actually considering it,” MJ asked, eyebrow raised as she studied Peter’s face. He ducked his chin. “Of course not!” 

 

At least not being a male dancer. He was as awkward and gangly as a newborn foal; he doubted people would find him stumbling across a stage in six-inch heels attractive. 

 

But were there other options? He shoved the thought away as they walked down the hall to he and Aunt May’s place. 

 

He’d have to do more research… maybe he could do porn? 

 

The thought sent an electric thrill down his spine. But then May opened the door and he shoved all thoughts of illegally paying for college as she pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. “Congratulations, all of you! I can’t believe y’all are officially adults!” 

 

“Peter’s still seventeen,” Ned pointed out after May had hugged each of them tightly and ushered them inside. Peter smiled weakly, staring at the “Congrats Grad” banner hanging across the kitchen and the cake on the table. “May, you didn’t have to—” 

 

“This is a very special occasion! My babies are all grown up,” she sighed, rubbing Peter’s shoulder. “And then in August you’ll be able to buy cigarettes,” she grinned. 

 

“I’m not going to buy cigarettes!” he protested, and everyone laughed. 

 

May cut the cake and they spent the evening giggling together and watching SNL reruns. 

 

It was a great night, but Peter was jittery. He felt bad for being so distracted, but he couldn’t wait for his friends to go to bed. 

 

Once Ned finally passed out on the couch, MJ on the top bunk of Peter’s bed, Peter rushed to the bathroom and pulled out his phone, sitting on the bathtub ledge. 

 

He looked up, “How to make money as a minor.” 

 

But he didn’t want to babysit or mow lawns. Two bucks an hour wasn’t going to pay for MIT. 

 

So he started researching porn, and made the discovery of his life: he could become a camboy. 

 

He’d stumbled across an “indie” porn site (stifling a snort at the idea that porn, of all things, had an indie genre) which had regular porn and individual profiles where, for a small fee, users could create accounts and start posting videos. 

 

His eyes widened as he scrolled through the site. People could send requests and messages to their favorite accounts, and the camboys who accepted them got paid the big fucking bucks. 

 

He was halfway through watching a college-aged guy talk about how being a camboy helped him pay for university when there was a soft knock on the bathroom door. Peter jumped and dropped his phone, swearing under his breath. 

 

“Peter, you in there? I gotta pee,” Ned said through the door, and Peter sighed. “One sec.” 

 

He picked up his phone and stared at himself in the mirror. He could actually do this—get himself to his dream school and support Aunt May. (And be Spider-Man  _ and  _ a camboy  _ and  _ full-time student) 

 

But Peter could handle it. He’d handled worse. 

 

He stuffed his phone in his back pocket, washed his hands so Ned would think he’d actually been using the bathroom, and opened the door. 

 

“Hi,” he said awkwardly, smiling bracingly. 

 

Ned raised his brows. “You good, man?” 

 

Peter nodded quickly. “Yeah.” he stepped around Ned and walked to his bunk bed, smiling at the soft snores that came from the upper bunk, and laid down, yawning. He glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand and his brows shot to his hairline. How was it already six in the morning? 

 

Exhaustion hit him like a criminal trying to take back their coke. (Peter preferred Pepsi, anyways, and had told the guy so. The crook hadn’t found it as funny.) 

 

But still—he  _ had  _ to make an account. If he had that step taken care of, maybe tomorrow when Ned and MJ left and May was at work he could film his first video. 

 

Peter smiled to himself, releasing a shaky breath. He had the summer to raise enough money to afford his dream school. Maybe he could get a job at the sandwich shop down the street, but hopefully if being a camboy gave him as much as it advertised he wouldn’t have to. (He’d briefly contemplated signing up for a sugar daddy site, but quickly tossed the idea aside. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust old men, but… he didn’t trust old men. Being a camboy, his identity was still at least partially secret, and anything sexual he did to himself.) 

 

He pulled up the website again, clicking on the “create account” button and biting his lip as it loaded. His heart was pounding, his palms were sweaty, and he felt the sudden urge to pee. Christ, Ned was going to be in the bathroom for an hour at least. Peter hoped it was just nerves and rolled onto his stomach. 

 

The first part of creating an account was fairly easy, just checking the “I am eighteen” button and the terms of service that no one bothered to read. Peter did feel a little spark of guilt as he scrolled to the next step, but only a little. He’d be eighteen in two months. It really wasn’t that big of a deal, right? 

 

Either way, his conscience had more important things to worry about. Like deciding on a camboy name. He bit his lip as he read the instructions: 

 

_ Create a username that all site visitors will see when they view your videos and profile. Don’t use your real name or any personal information.  _

 

God, this was going to be harder than he thought. He rubbed his eyes and frowned up at his window, where the sky was starting to lighten from black to indigo. 

 

He pursed his lips. He’d gotten  _ zero  _ sleep, what the fuck was he doing? He snickered. Maybe he could go as Zero the Camboy. Or Sleepy. Or— _ Dawn,  _ he realized, eyes going back to the window, eyes catching on the broken blinds. 

 

That was a pretty cool name. And it didn’t give away anything personal.

 

He quickly typed the name in, smiling to himself. Dawn the Camboy. 

 

“Hi, I’m Dawn,” he murmured under his breath as he read through the other requirements. “Welcome to my porn channel.” 

 

* * *

  
  


“Hey, you’re still hosting the Star Wars marathon Saturday night, right?” Ned asked, opening Peter’s front door. 

 

“Of course!” Peter grinned, trying to put energy into his voice. But it was ten am, and he’d only slept three hours last night. 

 

MJ punched his shoulder in way of goodbye, then gave Aunt May a long hug. “You guys sure you don’t want to stay for pancakes?” 

 

Ned’s eyebrows shot up, but MJ shoved him through the doorway. “No, sorry. We have things to do. Like college applications.” she shot Peter a look that flew over May’s head. 

 

“You guys are awesome,” May smiled. “Good luck!” 

 

Peter waved goodbye and shut the door, loosing a breath. 

 

“You have a good night?” May asked, noting the purple smudges beneath his eyes and his slightly grayed skin. 

 

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Just didn’t sleep much.” 

 

May nodded, clucking her tongue sympathetically. “Why don’t you go back to bed then. I’m going to work in half an hour, but I made pancakes and there’s fruit salad and pizza from last night in the fridge.” 

 

He smiled gratefully at May. “Thanks. Have a good day at work.” 

 

“I will,” she replied, smoothing out the couch cushions. “Today should be interesting, Stark Industries wants to donate millions of dollars of new equipment on the condition that our hiring process becomes less discriminatory.” 

 

Peter coughed.  _ “Stark?  _ As in Tony Stark?” 

 

He knew, of course. Had seen every shaky recording of the infamous Battle of New York. Had religiously listened to every one of the handsome billionaire’s speeches ever since he’d been a kid, and Tony Stark had given him a high-five at a nanotech convention for his eighth birthday. 

 

He’d been intrigued by the man ever since—obsessed was a better word for it, ever since he had that  _ one  _ dream about Stark and a yacht and one too many martinis later, sliding against silk sheets and smooth skin on dark stubble—

 

“Peter? You really should get some rest, honey.” May touched his shoulder, eyebrows raised in concern, and Peter blinked. “Sorry, just zoned out for a second. Tony Stark’s donating to the hospital? Is he going to be there today?” 

 

God, Peter would give up all of his limbs for the chance to meet Stark again.  _ God.  _

 

May shook her head. “No, it’s someone from his marketing department. Mrs. Potts was there yesterday, though. She’s very nice, especially considering they’re getting divorced.” 

 

“What?” Peter stared at his aunt. Tony and Pepper had been a power couple for years, and now they were just—done? Was that how all relationships ended: broken picture frames and cold beds and awkwardly meeting again after ten years on a deserted island? Okay, so maybe Peter watched too many rom-coms. 

 

But Tony was getting  _ divorced?  _ He should feel bad for the man, for Pepper, but all he felt was a ridiculous flare of excitement. Tony Stark was soon becoming a bachelor. Hope—foolish and naive, but still hope—sparked in Peter’s chest. 

 

“Okay, well, goodnight May. I mean good morning. I mean—” Peter gave up, laughing at himself, and gave Aunt May a tight hug. “Tell Mrs. Potts I think she’s a badass,” he said, and he meant it. 

 

He couldn’t imagine being married to Tony. (Actually, he could, and he had—white tuxedos, huge hotels rooms for two, kisses down his spine— but they were just childish dreams. Fantasies, flimsy as gossamer in the wind.) 

 

Anyways. He let go of May, gave her a small but genuine smile, and strode to his bed, collapsing on the tangled sheets. 

 

He passed out within minutes, and dreamed of red lips and bruised necks. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading ! hopefully i can update soon i have a lot of other fix-its in my head tho D: have a wonderful day !


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